


Waves Crashing on Distant Shores of Time

by KingFarbauti



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Depression, Gen, Hyperventilation, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Play Pals, Team OG, The Twins - Freeform, Winter Soldier AU, battle buddies, tags will be updated as new characters and situations are introduced
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2019-12-30 07:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18310895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingFarbauti/pseuds/KingFarbauti
Summary: The Winter Soldier: Battle Buddies edition - but with very little accuracy to the actual movie. perhaps it would be more accurate to say "generic 'brainwashed super soldier' AU" instead.“Headquarters… this is Agent Dooley…. ” He mumbled, barely audible. “I’m in trouble….”





	1. .one slipped away

**Author's Note:**

> nobody asked for this but i'm damn sure writing it.

The Battle Buddies were no strangers to what rightly should have been impossible occurrences. In fact, they had grown to be disturbingly familiar with all things unexplainable; bigfoot and yetis, time travel, and even a portal to Hell itself. Two relatively average Special Ops mercenaries that had been hired by the Organization for run-of-the-mill assassination jobs were now highly trained in dealing with the paranormal and paradoxical.

Which is why neither of them so much as blinked when Headquarters contacted them with another otherworldly job. Rifts had been opening across the city, at random and without warning, sucking people in before abruptly snapping shut without a trace. No one knew where they lead, or what was causing them. But as random as their appearance seemed to be, their victims seemed to be strangely calculated.

Those who had disappeared all seemed to be connected, vaguely, by military or general combat experience - either past or present. People who had been trained to fight, and knew how to do it well. They also fit within a general age group, though weight, height, and gender seemed to be inconsequential. And despite knowing all of this, there was no way to predict who would be taken next. No way to prepare for the next rift.

It seemed to happen in the span of a second.

Jeremy and Ryan, armed and alert, had been dropped at the location of the last known rift. Investigating for anything out of place; anything that might tell them how the rift occurred, or potentially how to open one themselves. Headquarters hadn’t been exactly helpful in the specifics of their request, and so the Battle Buddies were left racking their brains for what clues to look for.

They came up empty at every turn. Even when they split up, and searched a good fifteen miles in opposite directions. It left them tired, hungry, and frustrated at an entire day wasted with nothing to show for it. Headquarters wasn’t pleased, either, and had ordered that they promptly return to the location first thing in the morning to try again.

Defeated, they drug themselves back towards the motel the Organization had so graciously booked for them on the outskirts of the small nowhere town where the rift had occurred, eager to binge as much shitty takeout and delivery pizza as they could possibly stomach - which was quite a lot, if past experience was anything to go by. Gleefully, they agreed to put it on the Organization’s tab.

That had been the plan, anyways, if their rental car hadn’t suddenly gone dead without warning. Completely shutting down in the middle of the deserted two-lane highway that stretched on endlessly for as far as their eyes could see.

“What the hell?” Ryan murmured, smacking the dashboard for good measure.

“That’s fucking weird,” Jeremy agreed, “All the lights are off, too. Think it might be an EMP?”

“Out here?? Who the hell would have an _EMP_? They _barely_ have a post office.”

It was a fair point. The town was on the smaller end of small - the type of town you breezed through on the way to bigger and better things; blink and you miss it, with only a run-down gas station and hauntingly lonely roadside homes to offer in the way of civilized life.

Still, they agreed something was definitively wrong as they climbed out of the car simultaneously to pop the hood and check for any faulty mechanics. But the battery was fresh, and all of the parts were relatively new. Nothing was smoking, and none of the tanks were empty. It left Ryan scratching his head through the backwards baseball cap over his skull while Jeremy scanned their surroundings, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

Something in the primal part of his brain was on high alert, fight or flight threatening to kick in, and he was only glad that the sun had just begun to set, painting the sky in hues of crimson and gold, with deep blues and violets in the far east. Enough light for him to still see clearly, while bathing them in a rather ominous wash of colors.

But the enemy he was scanning the horizon for was one that he would never see coming.

The rifts, as it turned out, weren’t as instantaneous as Headquarters made them out to be. Still terrifyingly fast, and perhaps it spoke more of Jeremy’s highly trained instincts, but he saw it happening before he fully realized what it was. He saw the air in front of them shift and ripple, warping the very reality around it; like the distant mirage that swam across asphalt on a hot summer’s day.

Jeremy had just enough time to grab Ryan around the middle and yank him back, earning a startled yelp from the older man, before the rift split open like a festering wound. A burst of freezing cold air bit into his skin as hurricane-force winds began to push him back, nearly knocking him off balance. And he realized, with a horrifyingly slow dawning sensation, that the only thing keeping him on his feet was counterbalance. Because Ryan was being _sucked in._

Getting a glimpse at what lay just beyond the open rift wasn’t even a blip in the radar of Jeremy’s mind. His thoughts were frighteningly, uselessly blank. His only concern was tightening his grip on Ryan, gripping his body armor like Jeremy’s life depended on it; his heels digging into the pavement as he grit his teeth and _pulled_ with all of his might.

The look of pure fear on Ryan’s face would haunt him, he knew.

“Jeremy-!” Ryan’s broken cry was nearly drowned out by the arctic winds. But Jeremy’s tone remained shockingly calm and even, as though the suffocating panic welling up inside of his chest had completely cancelled out his ability to raise his voice. Or, maybe, he believed that if he spoke calmly enough, everything would turn out fine.

“Okay-- it’s okay. I’ve got you, don’t worry, buddy.” Jeremy reassured as Ryan gripped his arms, almost painfully, the rift pulling Ryan ever backwards while simultaneously pushing Jeremy, and the car, away. It suddenly made sense why there was never more than one victim at a time. “I’ve got you. It’ll be alright, it’s okay. Just hold on.”

“Jeremy, don’t- _please,_ don’t let go!”

His arms were shaking with the effort of keeping up the hold. He barely recognized the way his vision grew cloudy around the edges as tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. Jeremy wouldn’t admit that his grip was slipping, that he could feel Ryan’s hands sliding further down his arms as the rift’s unrelenting pull was beginning to successfully separate them as Jeremy began to tire - already exhausted from a long day.

“I’m not, Ryan, I won’t. Don’t worry, just hold on, just--.”

Jeremy’s reassurances were cut off, interrupted by a strangled yell from Ryan as the rift’s pull won out, and the pair broke apart forcefully as Jeremy was knocked flat on his back. All the air expelled from his lungs in a pained hiss. Wheezing, struggling to catch his breath, Jeremy scrambled up onto his knees. He watched, helplessly, as Ryan was pulled through, and the rift snapped shut more abruptly than it had opened. Before Jeremy could even so much as think about diving towards it, or try to follow Ryan through, or even call Ryan’s name.

The barren highway was silent in the absence of the rift’s powerful winds, and their frantic voices. It felt wrong, the absence of sound was almost violating. Even his tinnitus seemed to momentarily disappear.

Eyes wide in shock and horror, unaware of the tears now rolling down his cheeks, Jeremy shakily pulled out his Organization-issued phone; dialing Headquarters’ number on autopilot before placing it against his ear, barely registering the connecting ring before the call was answered with the standard greeting.

“Headquarters… this is Agent Dooley…. ” He mumbled, voice clogged with emotion: shaking, stuffy, and barely audible. “I’m in trouble….”


	2. .two was us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mind the tags, Darlings, and just remember to breathe. they're just words on a screen.

Months passed. The days became one long, shapeless haze of grief and confusion. He was numbed, by equal parts depression and apathy, to everything that happened around him. The Organization had put him on paid leave, claiming it was only temporary until they could figure out his partner situation. A kinder way of saying he was traumatized and unfit for duty, he knew. Especially with all the ways they attempted to ply him with therapy and councilors.

He found better comfort in the bottom of amber bottles. Whiskey coddled him better than any shrink ever could.

Headquarters repeatedly assured him they would stop at nothing to find Ryan and get him back. He gave them credit for their tenacity; their reassurances still had all of the misplaced hope they’d had since the beginning, when Ryan first disappeared. But Jeremy had stopped listening weeks ago, and all of his hopes had drowned foolishly while his demons taught themselves to swim.

The Twins and the Play Pals stopped by a few times, he could scarcely recall through the haze. He couldn’t remember anything they had said, but he imagined it was along the lines of whatever Headquarters was saying; pointless optimism and silly words encouraging him to stay strong. Only Team OG seemed sensible enough not to try it.

They had been in the agency the longest, and they had been partners for nearly as long as Jeremy had been alive, but they had both lost their fair share of partners along the way to each other. They knew, better than anyone, that sometimes that’s just how the world tilted, and it was never meant to be fair - just factual. Still, even if their pitying smiles and sympathetic pats on the shoulder did more for him than any words of encouragement, Jeremy still couldn’t imagine a partner who wasn’t Ryan. He refused to.

Despite the fact that they had always lived separately, Jeremy’s apartment felt cold and empty.

It had been months, and still Jeremy found himself going through the nightly routine of booting up his Xbox with the intention of playing something - anything, to hopefully take his mind off the overwhelming grief and loneliness, if even for a moment. But every time, without fail, the moment he saw Ryan’s gamertag in his friends list - stagnant, abandoned, rapidly falling behind in the monthly gamerscore leaderboard - Jeremy lost all interest in video games.

He would sit, trapped in a silent staring contest with his Xbox friends list, nursing a bottle of alcohol until he could no longer focus on the words floating across the screen. Then he would drag himself to bed, and he could scarcely ever remember falling asleep.

It only made the phone call he received, one eventual morning, that much more jarring. After months of self-imposed isolation, the blaring tune of his ringtone startled him out of sleep bad enough that he found himself reaching for a gun that was usually holstered at his hip, a scream caught and dying in his throat. A scream that resembled too much of Ryan’s name for his liking.

Taking a moment to breathe sporadically with his head ducked between his knees, as his fingers clawed at the back of his shaved head, Jeremy eventually forced himself to answer. His hands trembled an unsettling amount as he reached for his phone. Even in his most dire circumstances out on the field, he had always been calm and in control of his own body. Adrenaline always saw him through, getting him out of dangerous scrapes and enemy ambushes with not even a shudder.

But now there was only an overwhelming sensation of unfamiliar terror, and an uncontrollable tremor that ran through his body from head-to-toe. Now Jeremy felt like little more than a prisoner in his own body, unable to calm the frantic, rabbit-quick racing of his own heart.

“Hello…?” He would never acknowledge the way his voice shook, or how close he sounded to crying.

“Agent Dooley.” The voice on the other end greeted brightly. Jeremy recognized her immediately. She was the one who delivered missions to all of the teams within the Organization.

If she was calling him…

Jeremy’s stomach opened into a vile pit of dread. “What’s up?” He tried so desperately to shoot for a casual tone. As though everything were fine. As if Ryan’s disappearance hadn’t left him so traumatized. His attempts at sounding nonchalant fell horribly flat, and the words tasted like rust in his mouth.

If she noticed, she didn’t comment. She simply continued. “We have an assignment for you, and a new partner. Headquarters requests that you come in immediately for briefing.”

The words came in a rush, like the sound of blood roaring in his ears. She was talking too fast. Jeremy’s hungover and sleep-addled brain could barely keep up - could barely process what she was saying before she had moved on to the next demand.

“N-No,” He croaked, finally, “There-... there has to be some mistake… I _told_ Headquarters that I didn’t _want_ another partner. I told them-.” He struggled to dislodge the words from his throat before she interrupted him.

“I’m sorry, Agent Dooley, but this is non-negotiable. The Organization needs you, now more than ever, but we can’t have an agent without a partner. Even one as skilled as you. Please report in for mission detail as soon as possible.”

She hung up on him, before he could sputter any more protests. The silence on the other end was deafening - or would be, were it not for Jeremy’s tinnitus.

He couldn’t breathe. His throat burned as though the increasingly limited air in his lungs was made of some sickly mixture of fire and acid. How could they do this? How could they expect _him_ to do this? _They were replacing Ryan._ The terrified, frenzied thoughts came in a blinding rush that winded him further.

Jeremy had never hyperventilated before. He had no idea how to calm himself down. All he could think to do in his panicked state was continue to gasp and wheeze for air that wasn’t coming. His lungs felt like they had been filled with concrete; sitting too heavy in his chest, and frozen solid. Constricted, refusing to expand and allow him to breathe. Every inhale was a struggle, and each exhale brought him no relief. _They’re replacing him,_ his brain unhelpfully repeated, buzzing with static and paranoia. _They’re writing him off as a lost cause, they’ve given up, just like you’ve given up. You gave up months ago, you abandoned him. You said you wouldn’t let go, you promised, **why did you let go, Jeremy?**_

He could barely acknowledge that he had been crying for some time now, choking on sobs that struggled to get past the vice in his chest. He was terrified, barely able to understand what was happening to him.

Trembling hands reached for the one creature comfort he knew, his only salvation - the half-empty bottle on his nightstand. The only pillar of support he had known since the Organization put him on paid leave. It was lukewarm, and there was nothing to soften the burn, but Jeremy’s chest and throat already felt on fire as it was. He struggled to drink it down; going too fast for himself, choking on the big gulps he attempted to swallow past the hysteria and his inability to breathe. Drool and whiskey ran down his chin in a disgusting mixture, but he didn’t stop until the bottle was down to a quarter.

The concrete feeling in his chest broke apart and loosened as his brain went comfortably numb, and the shrieking, howling voice in his mind became nothing more than a slurred murmur that he could no longer understand. The urge to retch up everything he had just consumed sat uncomfortably at the back of his throat, but Jeremy forced the feeling down with a few deep, much needed breaths.

Rolling out of bed at long last, Jeremy shuffled his way through the apartment in a daze, heading for the bathroom to shower and clean himself up. The neck of the bottle, however, remained firmly clenched in his fist. Just in case the voice came back, and he forgot how to breathe again.

 _Just in case,_ he told himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Headquarters:** we want you to talk to a psychiatrist, you're traumatized  
>  **Jeremy:** no i'm not  
>  **also Jeremy:** *has a very violent anxiety attack and severely hyperventilates*  
>  **Jeremy:** huh that was weird :\\\\\\\


	3. .three's a crowd

Jeremy had purposefully taken his time getting ready. Between his panic attack that morning, the alcohol he had used to fight it back, and the betrayal he felt from the Organization, Jeremy didn’t want to give Headquarters the satisfaction of a timely arrival.

It was well past noon by the time he arrived, and he was half-past intoxicated. Desperate to keep his buzz going, and to keep the internal voice at bay, Jeremy had loaded up his flask and brought it along. He tried not to think too much about how the polished silver container had been a gift from Ryan after a particularly harrowing mission up in the mountains.

The receptionist at the front desk blinked owlishly at him as he came shuffling closer. “Hello. Can I help you…?” Her tone settled somewhere between professional and concerned.

“Hey. ‘Sup?” Jeremy sniffed, giving the woman an upwards nod of his head as he fell to lean against her polished oak desk. “I’m here for the- the, uh-,” He snapped his fingers a few times. “Meeting. Thing.”

“I-I’m sorry?” She frowned, studying his face for any sort of meaning, but the dark sunglasses that he was wearing completely obscured his eyes from view.

“C’mon, lady, you know, the fuckin’- the _meeting_!” He huffed in frustration, “Agent Dooley, number 2123, _reporting for duty._ ” His upper lip curled with the overly sarcastic lilt he put into his words. “Here to, fuckin’... get partnered up with some _schmuck_ , even though I fuckin’ _told_ the Organization—.”

“Agent Dooley.” A stern voice sighed from behind him, immediately putting an end to Jeremy’s rambling.

As he turned, wobbling more than he would admit, the sight of Matt Hullum - one of the Organization’s CEO’s - did nothing to sober him up. Jeremy only sneered up at Hullum’s stoic, unimpressed face, “Yeah, what?”

“Come with me. Jones is waiting. _Has_ been waiting.” He stopped to correct himself. The chiding glance he gave Jeremy over his shoulder went ignored.

Jeremy simply rolled his eyes, the action thankfully obscured by his sunglasses, and otherwise said nothing; trailing quietly after Hullum in an unsteady line, pulling out his flask for a quick swig as they walked. Though, judging by Hullum’s audible sigh, Jeremy wasn’t being as stealthy as he thought.

He couldn’t even imagine how Ryan might have scolded him, if he were here. Jeremy’s brain felt as though it were made out of cotton, and he preferred it that way, these days. Instead he became fixated on how quiet and empty the halls were; usually there was a fair amount of activity at this time of day, but now it was quiet enough that Jeremy could hear their footsteps on the plush carpeting. The majority of the Organization’s manpower had been directed towards dealing with the rift crisis, and so most of the agents had been sent out to investigate where Ryan and Jeremy had failed.

The Organization had reasons to believe that the crisis was coming to a head; the number of rift appearances had dropped dramatically, and so the Organization believed that the ones responsible were gearing up for their next move. It left them at a serious disadvantage as they hadn’t even figured out where the rifts were coming from, where they lead, or why people were being taken in the first place. They hadn’t even begun to figure out step one, and their enemies were now quickly on their way to step two.

Ryan hadn’t been the only Organization agent who had been taken, either. Jeremy hadn’t known any of the other kidnapped agents personally, but they had seemed nice enough from the few times they crossed paths in the hallways, or the cafeteria. Losing multiple agents had certainly created a healthy level of paranoia around Headquarters; agents were sticking closer to their teammates at all times, not wanting to risk getting caught unaware or losing their partners.

It had also created plenty of gossip.

Although Jeremy had been avoiding Headquarters since his mandated paid leave, things still got back to him. The Twins and the Play Pals had told him a few things, during some of their visits. Such as how there was a name going around for all of the agents who had lost their partners to the rifts, and it bordered on cruel. They were being referred to as 'The Widows'. Not very clever, in Jeremy’s opinion, but nor was it very kind.

Jeremy had also heard that the other Widows were faring better than he was. Or so it seemed. He imagined it was because they had actually taken the Organization up on their offers for therapy and counseling, unlike him. Stubborn and foolish as he was, he still didn’t think he needed it, even after his meltdown that morning. He was fine - he could handle this, on his own. He wasn’t traumatized, he just hadn’t been expecting a replacement this soon, he was just caught off guard. That was all.

Though, according to the Play Pals, there was one Widow who had taken their partner’s abduction even worse than Jeremy had. Apparently, nobody had seen them since they were sent on paid leave, and Headquarters was still trying to get in contact with them. They had gone completely radio silent - in a way that left a dark feeling in your gut, and a looming sense of dread at the back of your skull.

Jeremy tried not to think about it - or how strangely appealing it was beginning to sound. Quickly, he washed the intrusive thought away with another swig from his flask. Just in time for Hullum to stop outside a dark mahogany door. Jeremy knew it well; it was the office to his and Ryan’s Supervisor. He knew this office intimately. It’s where he and Ryan reported back, after every mission. It’s where they met, when they were first assigned to each other as partners.

And now, it was where he would meet Ryan’s replacement.

The tight feeling began to settle in his chest again, and his breathing became a little more shallow than he would have liked. If Hullum could hear him, or noticed, he didn’t act like it. He simply gave a curt knock upon the door before cracking it open enough to peer in. “I found Dooley.” He drawled, dropping formalities as the CEO’s were wont to do. “Good luck.”

Whether Hullum was talking to Jeremy, or the Supervisor, he didn’t care to know. He didn’t even spare Hullum a glance as he made a quick retreat further down the hall. Jeremy heard his Supervisor calling out a ‘ _thank you_ ’ to Hullum as he took a quick second to brace himself before stepping into the room.

She sat, the perfect picture of patience, with her hands folded atop her ornate desk. Her fiery red and orange hair was pulled into a perfectly groomed top-knot bun. The colors stood out against the soft greys of her tailored suit. They reminded Jeremy of the sunset he had seen spattered across the sky, the day that Ryan had disappeared.

Swallowing past the emotions that had become lodged in his throat at that unwanted comparison, he pushed the thought from his mind. His Supervisor gave him a brief once-over with her eyes before her stoic expression broke into a mixture of amusement and concern.

“Jesus, you look like shit.”

Most of the Supervisors were stern, no-nonsense types who refused to ever break formalities or treat their assigned agents like actual human beings, and not just militarized worker drones. Jeremy was never more thankful that his Supervisor was not one of those types. Though, given that she was in charge of the Play Pals, the Twins, and Team OG, it also wasn’t that surprising. All the most chaotic agents seemed to fall conveniently into her lap.

“Gee, thanks.” Jeremy grumbled.

Immediately, he noticed the other man sitting in one of the plush chairs in front of the Supervisor’s desk and he bristled. The man seemed to be about Jeremy’s age; dark brown hair that fell just past the chin, with a purple stripe dyed on the left side, and a beard that made him look a bit like Jesus, if Jeremy was honest. The look that Jeremy gave him was not kind, and it was completely unapologetic. “Lindsay, I don’t--.”

She cut him off immediately, her tone warm and caring, but brooking no argument. “Jeremy, sit.” She gestured to the other empty chair. Begrudgingly, Jeremy obliged.

She waited, a few seconds of silence crawling by, as though she were making certain that Jeremy wouldn’t try to interrupt her again. Once she was satisfied with his compliance, she spoke. “Jeremy, I know this is hard for you, _believe me_.” She seemed to implore him, judging by the inflection of her voice and the worried pinch of her eyebrows. “I’ve had Geoff in my office yelling at me since I got the orders to bring you in for debriefing. He doesn’t think you’re ready, and I’m inclined to believe him - especially with how you look right now… but we _need_ you on this.”

Jeremy, to his credit, remained silent. Sulking with his arms crossed like a petulant child, he stubbornly kept his gaze averted from both Lindsay and the man who had yet to speak. Glaring at the wall was easier to stomach than the overwhelming concern on Lindsay’s face, or the man that wasn’t Ryan sitting in the chair normally occupied by his partner.

“We think we have a lead. A good one.” That certainly got Jeremy’s attention. His head snapped over to look at Lindsay with wide eyes, trying not to let himself get too hopeful. “We got reports from some agents on a scouting mission. They saw what looked like another rift, but instead of sucking in another victim, it _spat someone out._ Their reports match the description of one of the previous victims-.”

Lindsay seemed to catch the tension that instantly wound itself through every muscle in Jeremy’s body and she held up a hand with a sympathetic look, “Not one of the missing agents, unfortunately. A civilian, someone who disappeared pretty early on.” Jeremy deflated, at that, but Lindsay pressed on. “I know, it’s not Ryan, but… if this is one of the missing victims, even if it’s just a civilian, if we can bring them in for questioning, _we might be able to locate Ryan._ ”

Jeremy’s hands were shaking, he idly realized, as he pulled out his flask. His breaths were too shallow, and his lungs were beginning to ache again. A long drink helped to settle him back into a blessed state of calm - it cleared his head, allowed him to think past the racing thoughts of possibly being one step closer to finding Ryan. Quietly, he was thankful that Lindsay hadn’t tried to stop him, and she hadn’t commented on his coping mechanism beyond the firm line that her lips pressed into.

“Where…?” Was all he managed to croak once he managed to swallow the drink down. Once he could breathe again. His voice raw with the burn of alcohol.

“Up North, near the border. We’ve already sent the Play Pals up there to investigate. You’ll be meeting them up there and providing backup.” She stood, and Jeremy’s hands clenched the arms of his chair hard enough to turn his knuckles bone white. He knew what was coming next. “Which is why you’ve been assigned a new partner - temporarily, Jeremy, I promise.”

His jaw was clenched hard enough that he thought his teeth might crack, and he refused to look away from the name plaque on Lindsay’s desk. There was a roiling sensation in his stomach, and the back of his tongue tasted sour with vomit. He couldn’t tell whether it was from drinking too much, after practically no sleep and very little food, or whether it was from his refusal to accept the current situation.

“Jeremy, this is Agent Matt Bragg.” Lindsay spoke as though she were talking to an unruly child who refused to play nice with the new neighbor.

“Hey, man. Sorry about your partner.” Matt offered a quick wave, apparently not taking any offense to Jeremy’s belligerence. If anything, he seemed to feel a bit sorry for Jeremy. Though, his sympathy did nothing to soften the unwarranted ire that Jeremy held towards him. “Don’t worry, we’ll get him back.” Matt tried to reassure him.

Jeremy left the room without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Matt:** hi nice to meet you. :)  
>  **Jeremy, already pulling out his flask:** if you even look at me again i will stomp you to death with my fucking hooves.  
>  **Matt:** that's cool, man :')  
>  
> 
> i wonder what they'll find up at the border.


	4. .four days has never felt so long

Lindsay watched Jeremy go, but made no attempts to stop him, or to call after him. Instead, she heaved a deep sigh, her shoulders sagging beneath the weight of her worry. She looked towards Matt slowly, unable to even dredge up a pacifying smile. “Sorry about that,” She dropped back into her chair with a groan, rubbing at her temple with one hand. “He’s not usually like that… he--.” 

Her words floundered, trailed, and ultimately failed her. But Matt, bless him, he simply shrugged, a look of understanding crossing his features. He hadn’t originally been under her jurisdiction - he had been transferred specifically for this, but Lindsay was beginning to wonder if there was anything that could break that unflappable calm that Matt seemed to carry with him wherever he went.

“Hey, I get it.” He tilted his head to one side in a sign of understanding. “I mean, I don’t, not really. I can’t imagine what it’s like, losing your partner like that. The Organization basically conditions us to be, uh,” He made a vague gesture with one hand, searching for the right words. “Emotionally dependant. With our partners. We’re, like, attached at the hip constantly. It’s why half of us end up married or some shit.”

Matt gestured to Lindsay at that, and subconsciously her right hand began to fidget with the wedding band on her left as she maintained eye-contact with him, patiently waiting for him to finish.

“It’s gotta fuck you up, pretty bad. It’d fuck _me_ up. So, you know, I get it.”

Lindsay nodded in agreement as she lowered her gaze, exhaling another sigh. She could feel a migraine coming on. “Yeah. And the stubborn motherfucker won’t get help, either.” She grumbled, perhaps more to herself than to Matt, before looking back at the agent. “Well, thank you, for understanding. Now you should get going. Your flight leaves in an hour, and you still need to gear up - and I doubt Jeremy will be willing to wait for you.” She teased, forcing a small smile.

Matt politely ignored the way her tone fell flat and how her grin didn’t quite reach her eyes. He simply gave a mock salute as he stood up, exiting the room at a far more casual pace than his new partner had.

Jeremy hadn’t stopped walking, after he stormed out, until he reached the hangars. He hadn’t looked back, either. The rational part of his brain tried to tell him how much of an asshole he was being, but it’s voice was shrinking by the day. He could barely hear it anymore above the endless shrieking and wailing that railed against the inside of his skull; torrential arctic winds, and distant voices begging him not to let go, terrified screams of his name that always ended abruptly. It always began from the moment he woke up, and it didn’t stop until he fell asleep. If he could sleep at all.

Alcohol was the only thing that made consciousness tolerable anymore. It quieted the constant hurricane in his brain, it kept the concrete out of his lungs, and it kept his insomnia at a healthy distance. He _needed_ it to function - and he was going to need a lot of it for the upcoming flight. Subconsciously, his hand went for his flask at that realization, a brief spark of panic flaring in his chest. He didn’t have enough. He was going to run out before they landed. How was he supposed deal with this without it? Deal with Matt, deal with the mission? With finding a missing person who _wasn’t Ryan._

He was able to pick out which pilot was meant to be theirs, the moment he stepped foot into the hangar. The call of his name and the friendly wave were good indicators, but Jeremy liked to think he would’ve been able to tell even without them. He gave a curt nod in return as he approached, taking a good look at their aircraft for the journey: it was one of the Organization’s sleek luxury jets, fairly nondescript and very far from the military aircraft that the agents were usually sent out to field missions in. Clearly, they were meant to make a much quieter entrance than the Play Pals likely had.

But that also meant a small boon was waiting for him aboard: a bar.

It was likely very limited in selection, and a poor comparison to the collection he was accumulating at home. But alcohol was alcohol, and he would take whatever he could get - especially right now. Anything to keep him numb, keep him calm, and make the next several hours spent in an enclosed space with Ryan’s replacement all the more tolerable.

“Hey, Jeremy.” Matt called from several feet behind him, earning a pained groan as Jeremy pinched the bridge of his nose.

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear, and all that.

Turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, Jeremy noticed that Matt had taken the time to suit himself up with a heavy bulletproof vest, and all the appropriate weaponry and gear one would need for field work. From the glance he spaced, Jeremy took notice that Matt seemed more partial to longer range weapons and hand-held explosives - compared to Ryan’s love of mid-range automatics and rocket launchers. At least the uncharged packets of C-4 on Matt’s belt were a familiar sight.

However, the aloof gait of Matt’s walk earned an annoyed grunt from Jeremy as he turned away sharply. “Hurry up, I haven’t got all day.” He barked, quickly heading into the extravagant aircraft. Each footstep falling against the boarding steps hard enough to earn a distressed groan from the staircase beneath him. It was unnecessary force, but Jeremy couldn’t help himself. Faintly, he could hear Matt hurrying to catch up to him.

Jeremy might have felt bad about how he had been treating Matt, any other time. Being from the East Coast, he had a tendency to be blunt; his humor and his actions could often come across as harsh or crass, and sometimes it was difficult to tell whether he was being genuinely rude, or just sarcastic. He would be the first to admit that Ryan’s easy-going Southern manners had helped to balance him out over the years. Jeremy always knew if he had taken a joke too far, or overstepped somehow, based on how Ryan reacted in the moment.

Although the older man could be just as sarcastic as Jeremy, most days, his breezy Georgia disposition made him softer on people than his murder-happy reputation let on. He had a way of relaxing people with just a smile and the gentle way he carried himself. Being around Ryan felt like being in the country on a warm Summer’s day with a pleasant breeze blowing across the fields. But now Jeremy felt like he was back on the East Coast, in the dead of winter, with nothing to protect him against the freezing cold.

His antagonistic Boston blood was running, unfettered and unchecked, and it was only made worse by the trauma he was attempting to hide at the bottom of his flask.

Matt, to his credit, took Jeremy’s prevalent attitude in stride. Without missing a beat, Jeremy heard a chipper, if not slightly breathless, ‘ _yeah- right, right._ ’ from behind him as Matt scrambled to follow his new partner up into the jet.

It very clearly not Matt’s first time on a luxury flight like this, given how casually he took a seat on one side of the aircraft and immediately began to set up equipment to keep him entertained and occupied for the long flight ahead of them. He had barely given the over-the-top interior a cursory glance. Not at all like the slack-jawed gawking that Ryan and Jeremy had done for several minutes too many, the first time they were treated to a flight like this.

Jeremy supposed it was only some consolation, then, that he wasn’t working with someone completely green. He supposed he could also appreciate that Matt seemed content to leave Jeremy to his own devices for the time being; Matt was much more invested in playing video games on his handheld console, ignoring Jeremy completely. It was a quiet companionship that Jeremy begrudgingly allowed as he took his own seat, on the opposite side of the aircraft, keeping the healthy distance of the center walkway between Matt and himself.

Still, it did beg the question of how Matt ended up without a partner, and transferred to a completely new supervisor.

He was taking this new partnership _too_ well, in Jeremy’s opinion. After all, Jeremy’s reluctance to get a new partner wasn’t unique. It was being exacerbated by the trauma, for certain, but it wasn’t a new sentiment; every agent within the Organization would rather go solo, or leave entirely, than get a replacement partner. Replacements had been successful in very few situations. Jack and Geoff were very much outliers. Perhaps Matt was an outlier, too, but something in Jeremy very seriously doubted it.

He did his best to ignore the feeling, focusing instead on settling in for the long flight. It was easier than expected once the pilot began the slow drive out onto the runway. The fasten seatbelt sign lit up with a soft chime, and Jeremy could hear the clicking of Matt’s seatbelt from somewhere to his right. With his gaze focused on the window right next to him, Jeremy could almost pretend that it wasn’t Matt at all - that this was just another routine mission. That any moment he would hear the familiar pull of a soda tab, followed by the recognizable crack-and-hiss of the aluminium can popping open.

He could almost pretend. Until impulse got the better of him, and he glanced over. The illusion was immediately broken by the sight of Matt hunched over his handheld console, noise cancelling headphones clamped firmly over his ears. He was playing Mario Kart, Jeremy realized idly. Ryan hated Mario Kart, and most things Nintendo.

Jeremy turned away abruptly with a hard sniff, trying to ignore the telling burn in the back of his throat as he pulled out his flask. It was all wrong. Ryan would have been reading on his phone, some new article about science or space. He’d tell Jeremy all of the exciting bits, and then he’d keep reading until he got bored. Ryan got bored easily. Then he’d either take a nap, or challenge Jeremy to see who could dismantle and reassemble their pistols the fastest.

Every recollection of their usual flight routine was accompanied by a swig from his flask. Until Jeremy was comfortably numb, slouched against the jet window, unable to tell if the runway lights were blurred from takeoff or from the tears that had started to roll down his cheeks. He couldn’t even tell when he had started crying, or why. All he knew was the sudden, crushing loneliness in his chest wasn’t going away, no matter how much he drank. All he could do was weep and wait for it to pass, thankful that Matt was too absorbed in his own little world to notice or care about anything Jeremy was doing.

He fell asleep, at some point. He couldn’t tell you when. One minute he was crying against the window as the jet crawled along the runway, and the next minute he was awake and the jet was now at max altitude. They had clearly been coasting for some time; it was dark outside and the cabin lights were dim. Jeremy’s internal clock was all messed up from the unexpected nap, but if he had to make an educated guess he’d venture that they only had another hour or two left in their flight.

It was jarring, and a little startling, but he wasn’t exactly disappointed by it. If anything, he was a little thankful. Still, he knew he would have to talk to Matt eventually - _actually_ talk to him, not just snap, or make snide remarks, or bark orders at him. He nearly groaned at the thought, feeling particularly childish and ornery as he was still shaking off the last vestiges of sleep.

Unfastening his seatbelt and standing up, he was surprised to see Matt still awake. Jeremy had half expected him to be sound asleep, though there was no way of telling whether or not Matt slept at any point during Jeremy’s extensive nap. Matt had switched out his console for his phone, at some point, at the very least. It was a familiar sight that momentarily brought back the ache in Jeremy’s chest before he shook it off and forced himself to move further back into the jet. Matt only spared him a glance of acknowledgement before focusing back on whatever he was looking at on the screen.

Jeremy appreciated the silent greeting more than he expected to, not yet ready for conversation. He needed something to soften the experience first. With his flask almost empty, he was forced to raid the aircraft bar, pulling out whatever beer and whiskey he thought might mix best with what he already had in his flask. All of the whiskey and vodka on board were in the typical tiny aircraft bottles - barely more than a shot, but Jeremy would take it gladly.

Mixing everything together into one abomination concoction, he took a tester sip, immediately grimacing as soon as the vile liquid hit his tongue. It tasted awful. Worse than awful. But it would certainly get the job done, and that was all he needed.

Shuffling back to his seat, he dropped down with a huff. He found himself looking back at Matt as he settled in. That irritating thought from before was back, gnawing at his brain like a dog with a bone. How could Matt be so okay with a new partner - let alone a new partner _and_ a new division - when Jeremy seemed to be falling apart at the seams, barely able to keep himself afloat without some kind of drink in his hand. His situation hadn’t even been exceptionally traumatic, the more he thought on it; Ryan wasn’t confirmed dead, and the Organization was working their hardest to locate him, determined to get him back from whatever fate he had fallen to.

Jeremy had known of agents who had seen their partners die brutally right in front of them, from a variety of ways. There had been agents whose partners had been kidnapped, and then later shipped back in pieces. One particular agent had been ambushed with his partner, and the pair were left to rot in an observation room for months, while their captors watched silently. The agent had eventually been forced to resort to cannibalism. He had never mentally recovered, after that.

By all rights, Jeremy’s situation was fairly hopeful. And yet, he was quickly coming unraveled the longer he went with Ryan still missing. Even Jack and Geoff still bore the traumas of losing their former partners. So how could Matt be so _okay_ with Jeremy? With everything?

“Dude, you’re staring.”

Matt’s voice snapped Jeremy out of the trance he had fallen into, and Jeremy abruptly realized he had in fact been staring, quite openly, while Matt hadn’t even so much as glanced up from his phone. He was more perceptive than he let on. It was somehow equal parts comforting and unsettling to Jeremy.

“Just trying to figure something out.” Jeremy muttered lamely, for lack of a better excuse.

Matt turned to look at him, at that. Locking his phone and setting it off to the side with a smile. “What’s up?” God, his unshakable attitude annoyed Jeremy something awful, in ways he couldn’t explain.

Trying not to make the agitated clench of his jaw or the accusatory narrowing of his eyes too obvious, Jeremy turned in his seat to face Matt a little better. Whether subconsciously or not, Matt’s body language parroted his, silently opening himself up to Jeremy’s dogged scrutiny and questioning. Above their heads, the pilot’s voice came over the intercom, calmly informing them of their fast approaching destination. So, his estimated guess from earlier had been wrong, it seemed, but Jeremy barely heard anything he said above the hyperfixation he now had on his new partner. But he did watch Matt make an acknowledging glance upwards before looking back to Jeremy, still smiling.

“Well, you’re definitely not new… but as Headquarters loves to remind me, every fuckin’ chance they get, there are no solo agents. Which means you were transferred - but not just to me. I know all of the agents that Lindsay’s responsible for, and you were never one of them, so that means you were transferred to her, too.” It was the most Jeremy had ever spoken to Matt, thus far, and the cheery expression never wavered or left Matt’s face as he waited patiently for Jeremy to finish playing at detective.

“So, I’m just trying to figure out… how exactly you ended up here, and why you’re so fucking _okay_ with it. It’s not natural.” Jeremy sneered, vaguely aware of the jet dipping in altitude as it made it’s descent. “What happened, then? Your partner get sucked into a rift too…?” It was almost a joke, but it had a little too much bite to it.

“Nah. She got promoted to desk jockey. Pretty sweet gig, actually. Headquarters says if I do well with this, I’ll be joining her.” Matt only shrugged, his smile turning lazy as he blinked slowly.

Something about the flippant way that Matt spoke, his blatant disregard for the horror that Jeremy--and the others like him--had seen, it barbed him. He visibly bristled, and Matt seemed to instantly realize by the tense posture that he had gravely misspoke. In the same way that a dog slowly begins to bare its teeth, and one realizes they’re in trouble, seconds before getting bitten. Matt sputtered as Jeremy’s metaphorical hackles began to raise.

“I mean, ah- you know-,“ He floundered, sheepishly, struggling to make the situation right as quickly as he could. This could have been his one chance to break through Jeremy’s razorwire walls, and get the shorter man to open up and trust him. His one chance to chip away at all of that anger and resentment, and instead he went and made it worse, with one thoughtless comment.

Watching Matt’s obvious turmoil over the slip, Jeremy might have been sympathetic if he wasn’t so hot-blooded and half-inebriated. Matt hadn’t meant any harm, and Jeremy knew that, but the damage was done. For all that he knew it was an accident, and for all that Matt was genuinely remorseful, Jeremy simply couldn’t forget Ryan’s blue eyes, wide and full of fear. It was all he could see. The ringing in his ears was replaced by Ryan’s screams and cries for help. The jet lurched as it touched down onto runway, and Jeremy sucked in a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding; remembering the fall he took as Ryan slipped out of his grasp and he had lost balance.

“ _Jeremy?? Can you hear me? Look, I’m sorry man-... Jeremy?_ ”

Matt was calling for him, and his voice was just barely breaking through the flashbacks. The jet lurched again, hitting a bump on the runway, tilting forward as it rapidly began to slow. It was enough to jostle Jeremy and bring him back into the present. Brown eyes focused back in on Matt’s burry figure, and his gaze sharpened with anger. Matt was now standing in front of him, touching his shoulder as though he were afraid Jeremy might burst into flames or break; he had gotten up from his seat at some point during Jeremy’s quiet episode.

Forcing himself to his feet and shrugging off Matt’s hand, he wouldn’t admit to the shaking of his knees. Instead he shouldered past Matt, more roughly than was necessary, growling between muttered words. “Let’s just get this over with. Wouldn’t want Headquarters to think you aren’t doing a _good job_ helping me _rescue_ my _partner_ , or anything. Wouldn’t want to keep you from that _sweet gig_.”

As he stormed up the center isle and out of the jet once it had completely stopped, with Matt trailing guiltily behind him, Jeremy tried so desperately not to dwell on the realization that he could no longer remember Ryan as he used to be; every time he thought of the older man all he could remember was the sheer terror that had been painted over every inch of his face, and the way the normally calm baritone of his voice had become shrill and broken as he pleaded and begged for Jeremy not to let go. _Please, don’t let go!_

Unbidden, the sensation of Ryan’s hands slipping away crawled across Jeremy’s skin, and he felt bile rise into the back of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lindsay:** you need therapy, Jeremy  
>  **Jeremy:** you're not my mom >:(((  
>  **also Jeremy:** *immediately cries himself to sleep*  
>  **Jeremy:** this is a perfectly rational and normal reaction to Matt playing Mario Kart :)
> 
> super sorry for the unexpected delay in this chapter, i'm trying to be more proactive with my art at the same time. hopefully the added length of this chapter will make up for it. future chapters are also going to be on the longer side, as well.
> 
> i wonder who Matt and Jeremy will see? ;)c


	5. .five words you'll never say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy!! this chapter is a doozy!
> 
> this is by far the longest thing i have ever written: 16 pages, 48,291 characters long, and an estimated 43 minutes of reading time. between getting all of this down into something readable, moving to a new apartment, and attending RTX - thank you all, sincerely, for being patient while i write this beast of a chapter.
> 
> and now, enjoy. ;)

It was business as usual once they landed, and Jeremy hit the ground running; determined to put as much distance, physically and emotionally, between himself and Matt as possible. He didn’t want to talk, he didn’t want to think, he didn’t want to listen to any more sputtered apologies. He just wanted to get this mission over with as soon as possible, so he could separate himself from his new partner. So that he could go home that much quicker. Alone, completely isolated from everyone, just as he had been for months now.

Jeremy just wanted to collapse onto his couch with a strong drink and a dull movie - something mindless, where he could just watch the pictures flash by and shut off his brain for several hours. He didn’t want meaning, he didn’t want heroics spurred on by noble intentions; he didn’t want long, weeping fantasies of unlikely allies who band together to defeat a greater evil, armed only with love and the power of friendship. He didn’t want to see characters on a screen succeed in all the ways that he had failed.

Several paces behind him, Matt was jogging in an effort to try and keep up. Jeremy could hear him panting as the weight of all their gear made the brisk pace difficult to maintain. But Jeremy refused to slow down. He kept up his fervent marching towards the Organization issued Jeep waiting for them on the tarmac. Their appointed driver didn’t seem at all concerned by the frustrated approach. He simply gave an inclined nod of his head, “Agent Dooley. Agent Bragg.”

“Let’s just get this over with.” Jeremy huffed as he climbed into the passenger’s seat, leaving Matt to sit alone in the back. Partners typically sat together on escorted rides like these, but Jeremy refused to be any closer to Matt than he needed to, for the foreseeable future.

Their driver paid his attitude little mind. After all, there were far nastier agents within the Organization, and Jeremy was certain the weathered man had seen worse.

Settling in for the ride, Jeremy felt a gentle tap against the side of his arm as Matt quietly passed him one of the winter coats that had been left for them in the back seat. It was far colder up North at the border; Winter had already hit, in force, and they were severely underdressed. Perhaps he would have berated himself for the slip in foresight, were he in a better state of mind. Normally it would be him reminding Ryan to pack warmly, knowing how quick Winter was to lay its claim over the North.

Instead, Jeremy took the offered coat wordlessly, without thanks, and without sparing a glance back. Shrugging it on as quickly as he could despite being too numb from the alcohol, and his high-strung emotions, to feel the biting cold that was already gnawing at his exposed skin. He snuffed, rubbing his nose against the thick sleeve, doing his utmost to ignore the burn at the back of his throat. It hardly ever seemed to leave anymore, and Jeremy was beginning to wonder if he’d ever make it through at least an hour without feeling the urge to cry.

He doubted it. But he could at least be thankful that Matt seemed to have gotten the hint, and was content to leave him be.

The entire Jeep was silent as it peeled away from the near-frozen tarmac, but it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. In fact, the drive was almost scenic. Maybe Jeremy could have allowed himself to enjoy it, under different circumstances. It was a sight he hadn’t seen in a very long time, and sometimes missed; snow piled high on either side of the freshly plowed roads, the evergreens towering over them dusted softly with the white powder. Moonlight bounced off of the reflective snow banks, illuminating everything around them in a strangely nostalgic blue glow.

There was something unspokenly depressing about moonlit Winter nights after a fresh snowfall. Lonely, comforting, quiet, and hauntingly beautiful all at once. Not at all like the sleepy haze of the South, which still maintained a tepid atmosphere, even in the middle of December. No, Southern Winters were a gentle thing. But this, the frozen scenery around them, spoke to Jeremy in a way that only alcohol seemed to these days.

 _I understand you_ , it seemed to whisper to him, on the back of the winds that rattled through the evergreens, knocking powdered snow loose like teardrops so tentatively clinging to an eyelash. _I know your loss. Everything has withered around me; I, too, am alone._

Without warning, a memory came upon Jeremy with all the sudden shock of a deer darting across an empty road in the dead of night.

 

_“Why does it have to be so fucking cold...” Jeremy had grumbled, ducking further into his Winter coat in an effort to escape the harsh winds. An easy laugh came from his left, and he smiled despite himself._

_“Aren’t you from the North?”_

_Jeremy looked over at Ryan, who looked thoroughly nonplussed about the weather - damn him. “North East,” he scoffed, “but that doesn’t mean I_ like _freezing my balls off.”_

_They were stationed up at some forsaken, miserable watch tower in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. The fact that they had been sent during one of the worst blizzards on record was something that Jeremy counted as intentional, as punishment from the Organization from the last mission - which they had failed, spectacularly._

_Ryan simply hummed, unbothered, his gaze keeping to the rolling sea of swaying treetops out in front of them. “I don’t mind it.” He spoke, after a minute or two. It seemed nearly secondhand, so quiet the wind around them practically swallowed it up the moment it left his mouth, and Jeremy was surprised he heard it at all._

_“Aren’t you from the South?” He countered, just as humored as Ryan had been. It got another chuckle out of the older man, and Jeremy counted the mission a success because of it, regardless of what happened between then and when they were scheduled to report back._

_“Yeah, but I actually like the cold. Don’t think I’d want it all the time, but every now and then is nice.” He shrugged, falling quiet again. It had been early in their partnership, and while Jeremy had become quite taken with Ryan right away, the later was a little more reserved; less chatty, more observant, quietly figuring Jeremy out in his own way._

_But, surprisingly, after a stretch of silence, Ryan spoke again before Jeremy could think of something else to comment on. “You ever hear about the Greek goddess Demeter? From the mythology.” It was a strange topic, to say the least, and it was enough to throw Jeremy slightly off-kilter._

_“Uh, no… can’t say I have. Not really my thing, I guess. Not a mythology guy. I mean- I’ve played God Of War, but, uh….” His words trailed, and he ducked further into his jacket, feeling a bit sheepish even as Ryan chuckled._

_“Close enough.” Ryan smirked. “But, Demeter was the mother of Persephone--.”_

_“Oh! I know her! Yeah, she’s the wife of Hades or some shit, right?”_

_Ryan had laughed a bit harder at that. “Yeah, also his niece, but y’know... that wasn’t really uncommon for the Greek gods. Demeter, though, she’s the whole reason Winter even exists. Once Persephone had been taken down to the Underworld, Demeter threw this_ huge _fit. Killed all the crops, plunged the world into an eternal Winter apocalypse, created a famine. Total overbearing mom syndrome.”_

_Jeremy found himself enthralled as Ryan spoke, less invested in the mythology, and more in the way that Ryan told the story. He had a way of talking that got your attention, whether you wanted it to or not. “Wow, what a bitch.” He scoffed with a shake of his head, jokingly, for lack of anything else to contribute to the story._

_“Oh yeah. And, the other gods were getting real desperate - as you do, when all your people are dropping like flies from starvation and exposure. And the only way they could get her to stop, and_ chill out _,” Jeremy gave a quiet_ ‘boo’ _at the pun, which only got a pleased smirk from Ryan, “was if Persephone came back. But she had already eaten pomegranate seeds. Which was kind of like eating food offered to you by the Fae.”_

_Jeremy nodded, despite having absolutely no idea what that statement meant._

_“So Persephone could never permanently leave the Underworld. But she could stay on Earth for, at most, six months at a time. Demeter kind of had to agree to that, she didn’t really have a choice, but it was enough to calm her down. So six months of the year, Persephone goes home to mom, and that’s when we get Spring and Summer. The other six months, Persephone goes back to her boo, and Demeter throws another tantrum, and we get Fall and Winter.”_

_“Ah,” Jeremy inclined his head, “so it’s_ that _cunt’s fault we’re stuck in this.” He gestured out to the tundra in front of them._

_“‘Suppose so.” Ryan chuckled, glancing over at Jeremy. “But it could be worse~.”_

 

Jeremy hadn’t known how accurate that statement would come to be.

He became so fixated on it, so wrapped up in his memories, that he failed to notice that the atmosphere within the car had shifted; Matt’s laid-back and easy-going disposition had all but disappeared entirely. There was a worried look in his eyes as they remained locked on the passing trees, for reasons far different than Jeremy. Every hair on the nape of his neck was standing on end, and his stomach had turned into a pit of acid.

It felt like they were being watched.

Their driver seemed to pick up on it as well, both men tense and waiting for an ambush that never came, but Jeremy remained completely oblivious for the remainder of the ride. It was, thankfully, an uneventful affair as the winding and empty isolated road lead into a small, quiet city. There were no civilians anywhere to be seen, but there were a spattering of flashing red and blue lights that guided them; serving as beacons into the center of the chaotic aftermath.

Jeremy snapped out of his reverie then, pulled from his thoughts by the sea of lights, glittering in the frigid darkness around them like cautionary stars. Subconsciously leaning a little further forward in his seat as his eyes widened to better drink in the sights around them. Cars overturned, some smouldering like embers from fires long since put out. Some tires, separated and abandoned from the vehicles they had once been attached to, still burned lowly in the empty streets.

Police, paramedics, and fire department all stood on the outskirts of what had clearly been quite the fight. Residual signs of explosions, pavement and brick walls alike riddled with bullet holes, nearby buildings reduced to mere rubble. A cacophony of ruin. And at the center of the mayhem sat the two front-liners they had been sent to meet.

Gavin sat perched atop an overturned car, distractedly fiddling with some piece of machinery - something that potentially resembled a drone, while Michael stood leaned against the vehicle. An unloaded RPG casually slung over one shoulder as he watched the company jeep approach with a lazy detachment. At their feet, a body bag.

Jeremy’s blood ran cold at the sight, dropping rapidly to match the temperatures around them, and he almost forgot to breathe; unbuckling his seat belt and bolting from the car before it had even come to a complete stop, the faded and warbled protests of Matt and their driver falling on deaf, albeit ringing, ears. Despite every rational thought in his whiskey-logged brain telling him that the bag was too small, too short, it couldn’t possibly be him, Lindsay had reassured that he hadn’t been spotted up here - despite it all, fear still had it’s unrelenting and unforgiving hold on Jeremy’s heart.

“‘Bout time.” Michael drawled, once Jeremy was close enough, pointedly ignoring how utterly panic stricken the other agent seemed to be. His voice was enough to grab Gavin’s attention, and the Brit looked up from his device with a warm smile.

“‘Ello, Jeremy!”

Jeremy failed to respond to either of them, his brown eyes still locked on the body bag, hands shaking as he mentally grappled with the urge to rip it open. Behind him, Matt made a much calmer approach, his voice barely breaching the wall around Jeremy’s awareness. “That one of ‘em?” Matt jerked his chin in the direction of the bag.

“Yeah,” Michael sneered, “Motherfucker was a _bitch_ to take down, too. We basically had to use everything the Organization sent us with, and even _that_ almost wasn’t enough.”

It was then that Matt was able to fully observe the extent of Michael and Gavin’s injuries; soot-stained, a multitude of scrapes, a number of cuts that had already coagulated, and a few deeper lacerations that still seemed to be bleeding slowly. The pair were clearly exhausted, despite the training they all had to hide their fatigue, and were in dire need of a trip to the med bay and a long nap. But they were in one piece, and victorious.

Matt whistled lowly, impressed. “Damn. Well, good job on that. Name’s Matt, by the way.” He offered a wave, which Gavin returned happily.

“Yeah, my wife filled us in on the transfer shit.” Michael inclined his head in a greeting nod. “We hadn’t planned on fighting the motherfucker, we were just supposed to be scouting until you guys arrived as backup, but that all went to shit in record time. We--.”

“Michael, tell ‘em about the fight, Michael.” Gavin interrupted, nudging Michael with an elbow. The response was immediate.

“Shut your _fucking_ mouth.” Michael whirled to face his partner, pointing a threatening finger inches from Gavin’s face. But there was no real anger to Michael’s words, despite the heat, and judging by the grin that Gavin was wearing this was routine behavior. This was the desired reaction.

It was amusing for Matt to witness as an outsider, a stranger to their dynamic, but it made a deep ache ring hollow in Jeremy’s chest. As always, he missed his partner.

“How did the fight get _this_ bad…? It’s _one_ person.” Jeremy croaked, coming back to himself enough to do his job. He still couldn’t bring himself to let his gaze stray from the bag for long.

“You’d think, yeah?” Gavin nodded in agreement. “But it was the craziest thing, it was like they knew we were here before we knew we were- that we weren’t- that-- what…?” He stopped, abruptly, confusing himself.

“Yeah?? You almost had it that time.” Michael grinned, barely containing a fit of giggles behind his words.

Matt’s lazy brand of grin spread across his own face, joining in easily on the mirth. “Better luck next time, buddy.”

“Aw, thanks, Matt!”

Michael shook his head, attempting to steer them back on track. “What dipshit here was trying to say was we got caught immediately, like… we were following reports of the last known sighting, and by the time we got here, she was waiting for us. But there’s no way she could’ve known we were coming. She almost got the fuckin’ jump on us, too.”

“And I had this weird feeling the whole time, right?” Gavin’s smile finally faltered, replaced by a worried pinch of his brow, “I told Michael, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Weird feeling?” Jeremy pressed, mirroring Gavin’s frown. “When you saw them?”

Gavin shook his head, “When we were tracking. Felt like we were being watched the whole time. Bloody eerie.” He shuddered with a grimace. “Michael didn’t believe me, but it felt like _we_ were the ones being tracked.”

“And then she knew where to meet you.” Matt finished, every hair on his body standing on end as his gut filled with dread, recalling a similar sensation during the ride over.

“Pretty big coincidence, innit?”

“Maybe, but the bigger issue is what happened when the bitch jumped us,” Michael growled, looking halfway tempted to give the body bag a swift kick. He settled for hefting the RPG off of his shoulder instead, leaning against it for support. “She was definitely one of the missing people, a civilian with a pretty boring background. She ran cross country, was kinda a fitness nut, but no military training. _But she fucking did all this._ ” He gestured around them.

“I mean… _that_ probably didn’t help much.” Matt nodded to Michael’s RPG. Michael only shook his head.

“Didn't even use it. She was completely unarmed, we thought it’d be easy enough to bring her in. Then she fucking _picked up a goddamn car_ like it was nothing. Chucked it straight at us. She was ridiculously fast, even for someone who ran marathons and shit. She was _way_ stronger than any human should be, and she never made a goddamn sound.”

“She had this eerie look in her eyes, too. Like there was no soul. She wasn’t a person anymore, just something that _looked_ like a person. We even shot her a few times, and it was like she barely even noticed, it was mental.”

Michael nodded along as Gavin spoke, exhaustion starting to weigh more visibly on his shoulders now. “She didn’t stop until Gavin managed to snipe her between the eyes. Like, _nothing_ was slowing her down until we got her in the brain. Fucking bullshit, by the way. This asshole hides for most of the fight while I’m trying to save our asses, he peeks out long enough to get _one_ lucky shot on this cunt, and she fucking goes down like a sack of bricks.”

Gavin turned, at that, making his notorious Smug Face at Michael, who looked seconds from throttling his partner. Matt chuckled, his amusement furthered by their antics. Jeremy, however, ignored them in favor of finally kneeling down to unzip the body bag. Quietly thankful for the cold to keep rot from setting in during the few hours that Michael and Gavin likely had to wait for Jeremy and Matt’s arrival.

She seemed peaceful, but the wounds that riddled her body spoke otherwise. Ashy blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail, and a pale complexion. Michael mentioned she ran cross country, which typically meant an excess of time out in the sun, and yet she had almost no pigment to her skin. Had she been kept indoors for all the months she had been missing?

The woman was dressed in dark, heavy gear that almost resembled the body armor that all of the agents were currently wearing, designed for stealth and combat protection. It covered the majority of her body, but Jeremy could still see scars peeking out here and there. Old enough to have turned white, but still fairly recent. Clearly she had gotten them wherever she came from - wherever she had been taken to.

All of this, coupled with the information about how near unstoppable she had been, left Jeremy with one conclusion. “They’re making super soldiers.” The words taste strange in his mouth, like some sort of paranoid conspiracy theory or fantastical movie plot. Like something straight out of bad fiction.

It was enough to draw all eyes down to him.

“Think about it. Super fast, superhuman strength, _and_ she was able to get the jump on two Organization agents? She tracked you guys, for who knows how long, and neither of you knew...”

“Hey! I said--!”

“Having a weird feeling doesn’t count,” Jeremy interrupted Gavin’s protests. “You didn’t _know_ what the feeling was. Not for sure. She got the jump on you. No one should be able to do that. _We’re_ supposed to be super soldiers. The Organization is like the fucking… _Illuminati_. There’s rumors that it exists, but the government covers it all up, hides us from the public. We’re the fucking boogeymen that get sent in when police and SWAT aren’t enough, _no one_ should be able to sneak up on us!”

His voice rose with his panic, and by the end of his rant his eyes had gone wide again, looking between the other three for any sort of answer, and finding nothing but pity and worry.

“I, uh… suppose this is a bad time to mention that I had the feeling too, then?” Matt started, cautiously, his eyes scanning the immediate area.

“What? When??” Jeremy hurriedly pushed himself to his feet, the body of the woman forgotten for the time being. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“On the ride here, from the airport. Didn’t seem like a big deal.” Matt shrugged. “Thought it was just a feeling.”

Suddenly all of them were far more on edge than they had been seconds ago, and all of their easy banter was lost. Alert and actively aware of their surroundings, the four of them waited for another ambush. Jeremy couldn’t tell if he actually felt like they were being watched, or if his subconscious was playing tricks on him now that Gavin and Matt had planted the idea in his head.

“Fuck.” Michael supplied, helpfully.

Jeremy was inclined to agree. Fuck indeed.

He found his voice again after several minutes of terse silence, “We should search the surrounding area.” Jeremy found that it didn’t sound nearly as confident as he would have liked. His eyes continued to scan everything he could see around them. Watching and waiting.

Most of the police and fire rescue units had moved on, called back to their stations or off to other emergencies, and the few that remained were blissfully unaware of the danger they all might presently be in. Their only concern was maintaining a perimeter, waiting for a cleanup crew to arrive and deal with the structure damage caused by the fight, and waiting to erase any traces that the agents had been there at all. 

“Are you mental?!” Gavin squawked, nearly dropping the device he had been tinkering with the entire time they had been talking. Jeremy only laughed, but it was a coarse and bitter thing, blackened by a biting sort of humor. It made the worried crease of Gavin’s brow deepen into a crater.

“Well, that’s what the Organization keeps telling me, every fucking time they demand I see a therapist. But that’s beside the point.” The others grimaced or made other varying faces of disapproval, not appreciating his joke. Not like Ryan would have. “What if these people aren’t being sent in alone? We have no idea what their purpose is, or why they’re only _now_ being dispatched - if they’re being dispatched at all…. What if they’re being sent in teams, like we are? We can’t leave, not until we’re sure, not until we check that another one of these fucks isn’t creeping around somewhere, waiting to hurt someone.”

“As much as I _don’t_ want to agree with that, because I really don’t like it, Jeremy is right. If we leave, and it turns out there were more, Headquarters will be pissed.” Matt sighed, his breath rising in a small plume. “We at least kind of know what we’re dealing with now.”

“Yeah, but we’re low on ammo and supplies. Need I fucking remind you that this bitch ate most of our ammo. Oh, yeah, and _threw a fucking car_ at us.” Michael groused, sneering at Matt and Jeremy, pointedly ignoring the quiet murmur from Gavin: _‘Three cars, actually’_.

“So then we don’t engage.” Jeremy attempted to settle Michael’s temper, offering a small shrug of his shoulders. “We scout out the surrounding area, and if we find another missing person, we call for backup immediately and stay defensive until it arrives. We’ve survived sieges before by just hunkering down and waiting things out. It’ll be just like that!”

Seeing that the Play Pals weren’t entirely convinced, Jeremy made one final effort; his expression twisting into something more pleading. “This is our _job_ , you guys… it’s what we’re trained for. We’re supposed to handle the things that no one else can. We _can’t_ risk civilians getting hurt by these guys… I mean- what if she wasn’t even here for you guys? What if she was _actually_ here to kidnap another innocent person, take them back to wherever the fuck she came from, and do the same fucked up shit to them? And what if Matt’s right?? What if she’s not alone? What if someone else ends up like Ryan.”

It hurt to say, deeply, and he choked on the words, but it seemed to do the trick in getting his point across. Gavin was quiet for a moment, staring down at his lap, before letting out a small, defeated sigh. “Yeah… yeah, alright.” He slid down from the overturned car he had been sitting on, tucking his device away into their duffle bag of goodies sitting on the ground. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt or nothing.”

That seemed to be the deciding factor for Michael, as Jeremy knew it would be. With a dramatic groan and roll of his eyes, Michael switched the RPG from resting against one shoulder to the other, hefting the massive weapon up in his grip a little more. “Fucking-... _alright_. We’ll do your _stupid_ scouting pass. Fine!”

Stifling his grin, Jeremy followed Michael and Gavin to the location where they had first began tracking the missing woman, Matt trailing along quietly behind him. The Play Pals wound up leading them a mile or so out of the city they had just been in, out into the surrounding woods. Trudging through knee-deep snow in the dead of night. Jeremy was only thankful for the lack of wind and cloud cover that kept things from getting even colder; the moonlight being the only thing to light their way as they tried to remain as stealthy as possible.

There was something bright and hopeful blooming in Jeremy’s chest. His brow pinched into a focused scowl, every step determined and sure. He didn’t know what he expected to find out there, but he refused to leave empty handed. The others were less confident.

They were all silent as they moved further into the woods, like a pack of wolves on the hunt; weaving between the cluttered trees, and barely making a sound beyond what soft crunches of snow they were unable to avoid. Still, they were trained to be silent omens of death in all climates. They knew how to shift the weight of their steps to minimize as much sound as possible; how to hold their gear to keep it from rattling; and how to breathe, their chests barely contracting and expanding. The clouds of steam rising from their noses the only indicator that they were even alive.

Gavin and Michael stayed within a few feet of each other, the former often following the lead of the latter as they moved in a haphazard pattern. Gavin’s expression was pinched into one of open worry and fear. Michael was more reserved. But Jeremy knew him well enough to recognize that the angry scowl on Michael’s face was simply compensation for how nervous he actually was.

Matt was harder to read, being so new and unfamiliar. Jeremy also had a hard time keeping eyes on him as Matt made it a point to always stay a few steps directly behind Jeremy. He couldn’t tell if it was annoying, or strangely comforting - he was used to walking in tandem with Ryan, or taking point at Ryan’s back. It was yet another subtle shift in his daily pattern that left him feeling completely off balance.

For entirely different reasons, Matt also found himself feeling quite unsettled; every hair on his body was standing on end. Warning alarms blared in his mind. It felt like he was standing directly where lightning was about to strike, an unseen electricity arcing across his skin. Something they didn’t have eyes on was activating his fight-or-flight reflex, the primal instincts of his brain screaming at him to be very careful. Something was hunting them just as much as they were hunting it.

A quick glance to Gavin confirmed that he felt it too, this strange washing feeling of dread. Michael was less perceptive; skulking harshly alongside his partner with a heavy scowl set into his brow. But he picked up on Gavin’s nervous energy easily, and it was putting him on edge. The grip on his gun and the clench of his jaw were both tightening as they traveled further into the woods.

Jeremy was oblivious in every sense; trudging through the snow with all the pointed determination of a sight hound tracking game. There was almost something excitable in the way he carried himself. Something almost magnetic in nature, as if he were being instinctively drawn towards something by some invisible pull.

Matt wasn’t sure what Jeremy was hoping to find out here, in this frozen wasteland, but he couldn’t help the quiet pity that needled through his heart, knowing they would likely come up empty.

Before Matt could think further on it, or draw attention to the creeping sensation of eyes upon them, they arrived at a small clearing - surrounded on all sides by dense clusters of trees. It was a strange mixture of completely isolated and very exposed, and Matt found he was extremely unsettled by it. The tactician in him was screaming that staying in this clearing for any longer than absolutely necessary was an extremely bad idea.

“This is where we first started tracking,” Michael groused, glancing around slowly. “Or… somewhere fuckin’ around here. Don’t remember exactly where we started, we were dropped in a little further North… ish. But this looks familiar.”

Gavin was nodding alongside Michael. “I started getting that dodgy feeling right about here, an’ it got worse the closer to the city we got.”

“Well I hate to say it,” Matt started, “But I’ve been--.”

His sentence ended abruptly as a large, fallen branch came flying out from the treeline to his left, like an oversized bat. It met his ribs with a sickening _‘crack!’_ and he felt all of the wind leave his lungs in one, painful exhale. It took all of his strength, and every ounce of effort he had to spare, to not collapse any further than down onto one knee.

He struggled to get his breath back and work up the willpower to get back to his feet as the rest of the team immediately sprang into action, going on high alert with their weapons drawn. It wouldn’t save them. Their attacker was much faster than they could ever hope to be, and before any of them could so much as shout a command or pull a trigger, the figure was upon them; darting out from the dense treeline, a black blur in stark contrast against the snow.

Gavin was quickly disarmed, his own gun used against him as a blunt weapon as he took a hit to the side of the head. It was a near thing that he wasn’t knocked completely unconscious, only stunned and more than a little dazed. Jeremy, in turn, was knocked off-balance as Gavin was then thrown into him, and Matt was still struggling to his feet. It all seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. It left Michael as their last line of defense; his nerves steeling themselves as he stared down their relentless attacker.

They were tall, with what seemed like an achingly familiar masculine build, but it was difficult to tell beyond all of the body armor and concealing layers of clothes; dressed less for the cold climate, and more to simply hide as much of the body as possible. Michael noticed an embroidered patch on the chest of their vest that read ‘ **Rot Hound** ’ in plain white lettering. The lower half of the face was covered by a mask that stretched up over the nose, and the eyes were surrounded by dark charcoal to further conceal any visible skin pigment.

The eyes themselves were a piercing blue, emphasised by the black makeup surrounding them. But more than the color, Michael couldn’t help but notice how completely hollow they were. Just like the woman they had faced down only hours ago.

There was no life left in them. They hardly even seemed human anymore.

It was enough of a distraction, enough to falter his defenses and allow the attacker to get in close. Rot, as they seemed to be called, used the scant few seconds of eye contact to their advantage as they rushed forward. Michael was unable to raise his gun in time before they were suddenly in his space, forcing him to rely on his hand-to-hand training. It was one of his specialties, but even he was nearly out-matched. He only just managed to block their incoming fist with a rather sloppy grapple, and a strangled cry of “Fuck!”

Snow kicked up around them as Michael struggled not to be overpowered by the larger figure. “Hurry the fuck up! Jesus Christ, somebody, _c’mon!_ ” His knee threatened to buckle and he shifted his weight to compensate, deflecting another incoming punch off to the side with one hand, his other arm shaking from the strain of keeping a grip on Rot’s other hand as it continued to push forward against him.

“Hold on, Michael boy!” Gavin cried. He and Jeremy still detangling themselves from one another and scrambling to their feet. The Brit was stumbling, and Jeremy could tell by his movements that Gavin was having a hard time telling which way was up after that blow to the head. Still, he was determined to save his partner - a sentiment they could all understand.

Matt wound up to be quicker on the draw, though; using the struggle between Michael and Rot as a distraction as he finally recovered and found his footing - although he was certain that one, or more, ribs had been broken by the hit he had taken. And yet despite the blinding pain in his side, he charged forwards, attempting to side-tackle Rot while they were still focused on taking Michael down.

They both went sprawling as Matt found his mark, and Michael only barely escaped being dragged down with them. He was quick to stumble back with a string of curse words, putting space between Rot and himself while he could, just as Gavin reached his side.

Rot was the first to stand from the tackle, slowly, eerily. As if largely unbothered by another fully grown body colliding into them full-force. As if they had barely felt it in a way that was deeply concerning.

The agents all came screeching to a halt once they realized Matt had managed to pull off the concealing face mask in the fall. Seemingly out of retaliation for their identity being compromised, Rot grabbed Matt by the front of his jacket and hurled him with a terrifying ease across the clearing, as if Matt weighed nothing at all. Matt choked on a startled yell, and his world became a dizzying mixture of sky and snow as he went tumbling to the ground, head-over-heel.

Jeremy, Gavin, and Michael remained rooted to the spot; eyes wide and jaws slack as they stared in shock and horror at Rot’s exposed face. None of them could move, or barely even think to breathe. All of them helpless against Rot’s slow approach; sinister and completely devoid of emotion. The world around them was hauntingly silent, save for the threatening crunch of Rot’s heavy footfalls through the snow.

Time slowed down. The seconds only marked by the malicious _step, step, step_ of Rot’s boots coming closer. But once it sank in - once Jeremy realized exactly who he was looking at, and comprehension dawned slowly, he swallowed; his throat giving a dry click, all the words he wanted to say catching uselessly with the sound as he choked on them.

Only one word managed to slip out, in a pitiful croaking sound.

“Ryan…?”

Rot stopped at that, his head cocking slowly to one side in a way that was so immediately familiar to Jeremy, he couldn’t help the pained noise that slipped from him as a response. Akin to that of a wounded animal, caught in a trap. But there was no recognition in Rot’s piercing blue eyes. There was nothing at all. They were so cold and empty that the freezing air around them almost felt warm by comparison.

“Holy shit...” Came Michael’s quiet reaction from Jeremy’s left, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. Gavin was silent next to Michael, and Jeremy had no idea what sort of expression he might have been wearing on his face. Jeremy was too busy searching Rot’s for any piece of Ryan that might still be left, and he was coming up terrifyingly empty.

“Ryan… it- it’s me! It’s Jeremy!” He attempted to reason, nearly begging, with his hands pressed in against his chest. But Rot had begun his approach again, his sights fixated in on Jeremy now, and he wasn’t slowing down. “It’s _me_ , I’m your Battle Bud--.”

The words were cut short, strangled out by Rot’s hand wrapping around his throat. Those cruel eyes narrowed, locked with his, and Jeremy kicked his feet helplessly as he was steadily lifted into the air; vaguely aware of everyone else running towards them. All of them snapping out of the shock enough to remember where they were, springing into action.

“ _Who the fuck is Ryan?_ ”

The question was like a punch to the gut, and all of the air left Jeremy’s lungs in a painful exhale.

 _No._ The voice was wrong, lacking all of Ryan’s usual comfort; the low and soft tones that reminded Jeremy so much of a sleepy Summer breeze. Now it was harsh, and coarse, graveled in a way that cut through him. Like ice that had become jagged, and dangerously sharp. Everything about him was wrong. Everything was cold, pale, sickly, and twisted. Even his touch alone seemed to sap every remaining ounce of warmth right out of Jeremy’s body.

He thought again, briefly, of Demeter: how losing her daughter had broken her, how the Persephone that returned was not the same Persephone that had been taken away, how her life could never again be the same. He suddenly empathized with her much more than he had when Ryan had first told her story.

“ _Please…_ ” It was near soundless, squeaked out in a pained breath. His voice effectively choked off by the inhumanly strong fingers that were steadily crushing his windpipe. His own fingers scrambled, tugging uselessly at Rot’s unpitying hand, his feet kicking wildly as panic set in and his body began to autonomously fight for survival.

“Hey, stop!”  
“Get the fuck off him!!”  
“Ryan! Cut it out, Ryan!”

The ringing in Jeremy’s ears was deafening, his tinnitus flaring up from the pressure in his head as his brain was slowly starved of oxygen. He barely heard the simultaneous shouts from the others. He couldn’t see what they were doing, couldn’t pry his eyes away from Rot’s unfeeling expression. Jeremy barely noticed Rot glancing sharply to one side, too slowly, before Jeremy was dropped carelessly into the snow; Rot forced to give up his prize to avoid taking a devastating hit to the skull from Michael’s gun.

Once again the pair were locked in combat, although this time Michael had immediate help from someone. Jeremy couldn’t see who; snow encompassed his vision as he laid partially buried. The urge to give in to unconsciousness and sleep forever was overwhelming. It was like a siren call at the back of his mind, saccharine and so very alluring. _No more sorrow, no more pain. No more failure._

All of his troubles would be gone, he knew, and he found himself slowly closing his eyes when a hand suddenly fisted itself against the front of his protective vest.

“C’mon, buddy… you gotta get up.” _Huh._ That was familiar.

Jeremy was hoisted to his feet with a hard pull. He stumbled forward as he struggled to get his footing, his head spinning dangerously. “Ryan…?” His voice was ruined, grating and rough to the ears; slurred around the edges as he fought to stay awake.

Matt’s sympathetic face slowly swam into view, and their surroundings began to sink in again. Behind Matt, the Play Pals were working to overpower Rot and subdue him. They were barely managing to keep him at bay, even with their combined efforts; Ryan had been a force to be reckoned with, all his own, back before his disappearance - and now he was something else entirely.

“Sorry.” It was all Matt could think to say to Jeremy’s disoriented confusion, and to the open disappointment that flickered across Jeremy’s face.

Jeremy laughed on impulse at that, a sharp and humorless. He didn’t know what else to do. Part of him wanted a drink, and the other part wanted to sit in the snow and cry for a very long time. His head and throat hurt in equal measure, he felt lost; confused, hurt, and a little betrayed. His already fragile mental state was now completely off-kilter and it would take so very little to break him.

But he could neither cry nor drink himself stupid - not yet, at least. He couldn’t yet wallow on how completely fucked up the entire situation was. Instead, he shouldered past Matt, though not as roughly as he had before; charging blindly forwards to join the fray before he had a chance to think any further on how his partner had nearly killed him. Matt followed quietly.

“Listen here, Ryan, you _motherfucker_ ,” Michael was in the middle of spitting venomously when Jeremy came upon the scuffle. “You’re gonna calm the _fuck_ down, you’re gonna come with us to HQ, you’re gonna get your _fucking_ head looked at, and you’re gonna fucking _like it!_ Hear me?!”

Rot seemed to tune all of it out. His eyes narrowed, staring distantly at Michael’s face, and the muscles in his arms tensed as he seemed to gear himself up for another attempt to overpower the ill-tempered gunner. It would have been successful, were it not for Gavin’s immediate interference.

“Michael!” The simple command of his name was the only warning Gavin gave, and it was barely enough for Michael to disengage and get out of the way, before Gavin jabbed a shock baton squarely against Rot’s back; right at the spot between his shoulder blades.

His entire body seized up, and he made a strangled noise of surprise, struggling with every ounce of strength he had to turn his head enough to glare at Gavin over his shoulder. It was a look that reeked of murderous intent, and Gavin nearly recoiled from it on instinct. Still, he held steadfast, giving the rest of the group just long enough to slap together a haphazard plan with barely more than a few shared glances and some quiet prayers.

Matt came in low, armed with cuffs that were designed to be near unbreakable. Likely their only hope at restraining a super soldier powerful enough to toss around vehicles as though they were made from styrofoam. Michael came in high with an identical set; the pair seemed intent on rushing Rot from both sides at different heights, knocking him prone and giving them mere seconds to restrain his arms and legs before he could recover.

Jeremy stood a few feet in front Rot, watching the entire thing unfold. Helpless and at a loss for what to do. He wanted to help, he really did. Everything inside of him was screaming to do just that. But there remained a foolish part of him that was simply incapable of turning on his partner and lifting a hand against whoever it was that Ryan had become. No matter how much it might be for the greater good.

The plan should have worked.

By all rights it was flawless, if not a little sloppy. But the moment Gavin removed the shock baton from Rot’s back, he recovered immediately - much quicker than he should have. The way he so effortlessly shrugged it off, one would think the baton had never touched him at all. It caught all of them off guard; Michael and Matt’s charging steps faltering, and Gavin stumbling back with a surprised squawk. And that was the only opening that Rot needed.

One-by-one, they were knocked into the snow. Michael was incapacitated with a swift elbow to the jaw, his teeth clacking together harshly, and his entire world spinning as he stumbled to the ground. Gavin was given a punch to the sternum for his efforts, all of the air leaving his lungs in a violent coughing fit, his legs swept out from under him before he even realized what was happening. Matt was picked up and thrown across the clearing again, narrowly avoiding a collision with a tree.

Rapid fire, they all fell. Until only Jeremy was left standing, still frozen like a deer in headlights.

They stood mere feet from each other, and never had the height difference felt so great between them. Ryan had a way of making you feel tall, no matter how short you might have been. But Rot was a towering, imposing figure, and Jeremy felt so insignificant beneath his long shadow.

Rot’s eyes seemed to burn straight through him, and his expression remained blank and unreadable. Still, Rot made no moves to close the gap and attack, as he had with the others. Despite how easily he could have, with the way Jeremy found himself paralyzed. _Did that mean something?_ Jeremy wanted desperately to ask, to beg yet again for Ryan to remember himself. But all of the words died in his throat, useless and unsaid, as his mouth opened and closed silently.

It all felt like some horrid nightmare coming to a head, and he couldn’t help the sob that slipped out - unaware of the tears that had been gathering in his eyes until he made the sound at all.

A flicker of something that might have been recognition passed between Rot’s eyes. But as soon as it was there, it was gone again, replaced once more by that cold calculation as his gaze darted around at the group of amassing agents. The others were slowly finding their footing again, and he realized very quickly that he was outnumbered, even with as strong as he was. Individually, he could overpower them easily, but even he could only hold off their combined attacks for so long. He was reaching his limit.

Engaging any further was a lost cause, he knew, and he needed to escape while he still had the opportunity.

Determined to make a hasty retreat before the agents could make another attempt at subduing him, Rot used a concealed device within his protective vest, and he opened a portal. Identical to the one that had abducted Ryan at the start of all of this. The same torrential arctic winds as before hit unforgivingly, cutting through their protective clothing and sweeping away any body heat they might have still had. Exposed skin risked immediate frostbite.

Rot stood unflinching, the winds pushing everyone back while simultaneously drawing him in. Seemingly designed to keep out anyone who didn’t belong - who wasn’t chosen. However, before he could step through, something gripped his arm with a surprising amount of force; crushing and desperate, causing his steps to falter and impeding his exit.

Glancing back, he saw that it was Jeremy, clinging to him so fiercely, as though his very life depended on it. “Ryan, don’t!!” He called, desperately, above the portal’s winds. “Please! Don’t do this!!”

There was that name again. It caused an unpleasant burning at the back of his skull, and Rot simultaneously wanted to run towards and away from the sound of it.

He began to panic; struggling with himself internally while also realizing that no matter how hard he pulled, Jeremy was refusing to let go. As a last ditch effort, he threw a solid punch that landed square on Jeremy’s jaw and caused his head to snap painfully to one side, but the shorter man refused to relent. It was confusing to him, Jeremy’s lack of self-preservation, and a sensation of guilt that he couldn’t explain clawed through Rot’s insides.

Something about Jeremy’s voice, the sheer agony in his words, was stirring something in Rot’s brain. A phantom memory he didn’t want. He didn’t have memories, didn’t need them, but the way Jeremy spoke to him made Rot feel as if he _could_. And that frightened him in ways he couldn’t express.

“Get off.” He growled softly, going against the quiet voice in his head that was now screaming at him in agreement with Jeremy. Begging for him to stay. He didn’t want to stay. _Did he...?_ He needed to follow orders. _Need to obey._ He needed to retreat while he still had the chance.

“No!!” Jeremy argued defiantly. “I’ll never let you go! Not again! I made a promise!!”

The portal was closing and Jeremy was no closer to shaking loose. Rot’s panic surged into terror and he gave a final tug against Jeremy, as hard as he could, as he stepped through. Just as the portal snapped shut.

Jeremy lost his footing and was sent sprawling into the snow as Rot was suddenly ripped away from him. Just as Ryan had been the first time. Grief threatened to overwhelm him, and the only thing that kept it at bay was the slow realization that he was still gripping something in his hands. As he righted himself and regained balance he quickly realized, mortified, that he was clutching Rot’s severed arm. Separated at the shoulder with surgical precision, through bone and all.

Everything inside of Jeremy went numb, his eyes unable to look away. Blood was splattered across the snow in front of him in a grisly display, and his front was quickly becoming soaked through as the arm continued to bleed.

The other three - they were calling to him, he realized; frantically shouting his name, as they rushed to him through the snow. But Jeremy could hear none of it. He was so numb…. His entire body felt like white noise. The ringing in his ears had become deafening, all-encompassing. It sounded like screaming.

He was screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Rot:** ok. time to run away and abandon you.  
>  **Jeremy:** no!! that's the thing i'm sensitive about!!  
>  **Rot, actively chopping off his own arm: _Street Smarts._**
> 
> like, comment, and subscribe if you would also sever your own arm to escape an awkward situation. smash that notification bell to be a part of the 'Rot Is Completely Valid' squad. Jeremy stans can use the promo code WHOISRYAN for 20% off their next therapy session.


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